


Total Frat Move: Part Deux

by Mellow_Yellow



Series: Frat-a-licious [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, fraternities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellow_Yellow/pseuds/Mellow_Yellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about banging your frat bro dorm roommate, Mickey was discovering, was that there were both serious pros and serious cons to the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Total Frat Move: Part Deux

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Valentine's Day surprise for this lovely fandom: the sequel to Total Frat Move that I never planned to write, but you guys wanted it, so here it is. Enjoy! <3

The thing about banging your frat bro dorm roommate, Mickey was discovering, was that there were both serious pros and serious cons to the situation. 

Pros: easy access. Ever since they’d come back from Ian’s house over Christmas break, Mickey felt like Ian was always within arm’s reach of him. He was constantly nearby, broad and kind of gangly and easily flustered, big hands and feet and long arms, bouncing around like a puppy, and Mickey couldn’t keep his hands off him.

Cons: the guy still had the exact same irritating roommate habits as before. Just because they were banging didn’t mean Ian suddenly did his laundry on a regular human cadence, or that he stopped listening to stupid embarrassing gangster rap whenever he did his poor imitation of studying for class, or that he wasn’t still part of a fucking _fraternity_ , goddamit. 

“Come to the party with me tonight,” Ian breathed, pressing his face into Mickey’s neck and inhaling, like he was _smelling_ him or some shit, and Mickey didn’t know why that was doing it for him but it was. They were both naked except for boxers and even that was starting to feel like too many _clothes_.

“I got to study, man,” Mickey said weakly, squirming a little so Ian was settled more firmly on top of him. There wasn’t much space on Mickey’s dorm bed, but he’d washed his sheets the week before like a human while Ian’s were starting to mold, so they were sharing his for now.

“But it’s _Thursday_ ,” Ian insisted, his voice wheedling. He spread his big hands around Mickey’s waist, holding him firm so he could rub more freely against him, and Mickey let him, closing his eyes, letting his hips fall into the movement. 

“Exactly, which means tomorrow’s _Friday_ , and I have that test— _fuck_ , Ian,” Mickey bit out, letting his hands grip Ian’s shoulders Ian humped against him, the friction almost painful, but barely noticeable over the way Ian held Mickey tightly to his chest.

But then Ian pulled back, frowning adorably as he caught his breath. Mickey had to fight the urge to pull him back down. “But I thought that was next week.”

Mickey felt himself flush. The fact that Ian was taking pointed, concentrated notice of Mickey’s schedule, his comings and goings, his actual _life_ , rather than just throwing a shy, airheaded smile as he left for yet another frat party like last semester, was still secretly thrilling.

“It got pushed up because of the snow day,” Mickey said, a little breathlessly.

The corners of Ian’s mouth curled up like the Grinch. “Mmm, snow day,” he said, letting the words rise on a moan. Mickey did his best not to groan in response.

The snow day the week after classes started up second semester was a blur of orgasms and jizz all over the place. It had been The Best.

For the first time in a long time, Mickey was basking in a requited crush, and it was pretty fucking glorious. It was so easy being together.

It was also already February, and Mickey was surprised how relatively simple it had been so far to slide into an adjusted rhythm with Ian, after driving him home for winter break and confessing that okay, _maybe_ Mickey had been panting after his dudebro doofus roommate for the whole first semester of college.

Also since high school. Whatever. Pointless details.

And sure, maybe he’d spent an almost blissful three weeks hanging around his old neighborhood with Ian and his brothers and sisters, who turned out to be nearly as adorable and irrepressibly affable as Ian was. He’d assumed, though, as a relatively smart guy on scholarship, that winter break was a slice out of time. 

He'd also assumed, somewhat miserably, that as soon as they crossed the border back to Normal, Illinois, Ian would go back to being the same loud, hard-partying closeted frat bro he'd been before, and they’d both pretend they hadn’t spent most of Christmas break boning at Ian’s house, and the subsequent drive back to campus giggling and holding hands like assholes.

The point was, if Mickey had put money on it, he would’ve been out fifty bucks. As evidenced by the way Ian’s tongue was stroking thoughtfully in and out of Mickey’s mouth, an oversized freckled palm wiggling under the waistband of Mickey’s boxers. 

“Fuck, man, you’re going to be hell on my GPA,” Mickey muttered mindlessly, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. 

Undeterred, Ian slide his mouth down Mickey’s jaw, letting his teeth drag just slightly on his throat, making Mickey shudder. Fuck, Mickey couldn't help but marvel at how now that Ian was giving himself permission to be all gay and shit, he was seriously going to town with it, and Mickey was the one reaping the benefits.

Ian chuckled, the sound making Mickey grin helplessly below him. “You study too much,” Ian murmured, biting lightly at Mickey’s collarbone.

“What would you know about what is and is not the correct amount of studying, man,” Mickey said, trying to sound biting. The effect was a little lost as he squirmed, hands looping around Ian’s neck as he tried to settle Ian’s body more firmly above him.

With a final smacking kiss to Mickey’s chest, Ian sat up enough to rest on one elbow, grinning down at Mickey’s face. He reached out to toy with Mickey’s glasses, wiggling the frames by the corner. Mickey huffed and smacked at Ian’s hands, but Ian managed to twist the maneuver into lacing their hands together. He pressed their joined hands to the bed and leaned down to press a soft, chaste kiss to Mickey’s lips.

Mickey frowned, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding, the way Ian was staring at him, eyes darting like he was trying to memorize Mickey’s face.

“If you nuzzle me, man, I swear to god,” he warned, which just made Ian laugh and do it anyway.

Ian settled down, propping his head in his hand. “It’s Thursday,” he said casually. “We should go out. Hit some parties.”

Raising his eyebrows, Mickey let himself reach out and tug on Ian’s earlobe. “Yeah man, but I need to go to the library.”

“Yeah, but, it’s _Thursday_ ,” Ian repeated, like Mickey was missing something. Maybe he was. Now that he thought about, Ian had always been gone on Thursday nights before, off to mysterious frat parts unknown. And sure enough, “I got a frat thing later I need to go to, you should come with.”

Talk about a boner killer. Mickey groaned and sat up, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses.

So far, Ian had still been running around doing frat stuff, and Mickey had managed to stay untangled from all of it. Ian had dropped a few tentative suggestions about Sigma Chi functions that were coming up, but as hard as it was to say no to Ian’s dopey, hopeful face, Mickey also knew Ian's fucking older brother would be at all of them, and that asshole was someone Mickey was purposefully avoiding.

“You could just come by for a little bit,” Ian said, sitting up too. He nudged Mickey’s side with his knee. “Take a break from studying. Live a little.” He poked Mickey on the neck. Mickey grabbed his hand, ignoring Ian's triumphant grin. Dude was seriously a puppy.

“I will literally do anything not to go to some frat thing tonight,” Mickey told him honestly.

Ian tilted his head slyly. He tugged Mickey closer so he was sitting between Ian’s open legs. “Really? You’ll do anything?”

Mickey tried to roll his eyes at Ian’s knowing smirk, pretend like he wasn’t practically dying to get his hands down Ian’s pants all the time now, but it was a lost cause. He looked Ian in the eye, at the way Ian was smiling at him, all bright and happy, and Mickey shimmied down the bed, yanking Ian’s boxers down wit him. 

Ian had a pretty impressive cock. Mickey was half in love with it, really, took any excuse to get his hands or mouth on it, memorizing the shape and heft.

Just wrapping his hand around the base was enough to make his ass clench. Fuck, but he needed to talk to Ian about getting on him for real soon.

He looked up and saw Ian watching him, his eyes wide like he was trying to not miss a second of what was happening. His mouth hung open slightly. He so goddamn pretty Mickey kind of felt irritated about it.

To distract himself, he swallowed Ian down, nearly purring at the loud gasp Ian let out, at the heavy feeling of his cock on Mickey’s tongue.

He sucked, concentrating on the tip, getting loud and a little sloppy with spit like he knew Ian liked, letting Ian pull his hair a little as he held on to Mickey’s head. Mickey moaned at the sensation, at the jerk when Ian tensed.

He pulled off, wiping his mouth on his wrist. “You can come in my mouth, I don’t care,” he said breathlessly, and Ian moaned, his head falling back on his neck.

“Jesus, Mick, you can’t just say shit like that,” he muttered, scritching Mickey’s head lightly.

Mickey smirked and dove back in, bobbing on Ian’s cock until Ian was biting out curses and pulling Mickey’s hair hard enough that an electric slice of pain shot down his neck from his scalp.

“Mickey,” Ian hissed, and then he came, shooting into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey swallowed what he could and pulled off, letting the rest hit his mouth and chin. 

Ian watched him, wide-eyed and red-faced, as Mickey licked his mouth and hands clean. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Come here.” Before Mickey had a chance to move, Ian hauled him up and halfway across his lap, licking his hand and wrapping it around Mickey’s hard cock. He attacked Mickey’s mouth as he jerked him, licking at him like he was chasing his own taste. Mickey arched into the pull of Ian’s hand, panting into Ian’s mouth.

With his free hand, Ian reached around and grabbed a handful of Mickey’s ass, squeezing tightly, one finger dragging on his dry hole, and Mickey came like a shot, body bowing.

They tangled together on the bed afterward. Mickey’s head was smushed half into Ian’s armpit but he didn’t have the energy to move just yet.

“Fuck,” Ian breathed. “Fine. You don’t have to go to the frat thing. You’re off the hook.”

Mickey kissed him on the cheek with a smacking sound. “You’re the best,” he said.

“No, _you’re_ the best,” Ian said, lifting his head so he could look Mickey directly in the eye, looking earnest. Too earnest, goddamnit, this kid was making him a little crazy, and Mickey  _liked_ it, that was the worst-best part.

“Okay, I’m the best,” Mickey agreed, a little dazed, and settled his head on Ian’s chest to rest for a moment, feeling smug and warm.

 

***

 

Usually Mickey liked the library, in an unapologetically geeky way. He liked that it was quiet, and he didn’t have to pretend to be friendly with anyone, and he liked the smell of books, especially deep in the stacks where he usually studied.

It helped him concentrate. He didn’t know how people managed to study in the common rooms of the dorm or at the coffee shops on campus. He needed the quiet of the library to get any work done. 

Plus, he never had to worry about running into Ian here and getting distracted with fucking around. Because while Mickey tried to play it cool, he was deeply, deeply paranoid about losing his scholarship. Just the thought of even partially proving right his dad’s sneering, dismissive claims that Mickey was just a fuck up made him scowl in determination. 

He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Even if that distraction had bright red hair and a cute smile and slept curled around him like an octopus in the same tiny twin bed most nights.

He settled into his normal spot and got to work on his study guide. He managed to chart out most of the summaries of the Virginia Woolf titles on the syllabus, and scanned through his notes from class. After a few hours, he felt as ready as he was going to get for the test tomorrow.

Normally, he’d move on to preparing for lectures next week, maybe spend some time putting together his arguments for seminar. He’d been too distracted in high school to really speak up in class much, trying to keep his head down after his dad threw him out and he was the talk of the block for a while, Terry Milkovich’s big gay fuck up of a son.

But in college, he was miles away from the neighborhood. He relished the chance to argue points and sass back idiots who were clearly blustering to cover up not doing the reading.

Tonight though, his attention started to drift once he was done studying for his test. He kept thinking about Ian’s resigned expression when Mickey shot down his frat’s stupid mixer. Like he knew better than to expect Mickey to agree to come, but couldn’t help asking anyway.

“Balls,” he muttered to himself. He started loading up his backpack. 

Willow Street wasn’t far from the library. He usually avoided it because it was loud and filled with drunken assholes, but he sighed and turned the corner toward it now, trying not to glower too hard. The snow still piled on the sidewalk didn’t seem to deter the swarms of girls in dresses without tights and dudes milling around in snapbacks between the frats and scattered sorority houses. Mickey tried to ignore them as he trudged past. 

He stopped outside the Omega Chi house, mentally girding himself. He could hear deep bass music thumping somewhere in the house and the muffled chatter of conversations before he even got to the door. He didn’t really know the protocol, so he rang the doorbell.

It opened, and a guy with a red solo cup in his hand looked at Mickey in surprise. “Yo,” the guy said, eyeing Mickey's backpack. “You lost, bro?”

Mickey straightened his glasses reflexively, even though he knew it just drove the geek look home even harder. “Um, no. I’m here to see.. Ian Gallagher told me to come to the party?”

“Oh, Lip’s brother,” the guy said, nodding. Just hearing Ian’s brother’s stupid nickname made Mickey tense. The guy at the door stepped aside, ushering Mickey in. “Party’s in back, lower level. Cup’s are five bucks.” 

Mickey followed the guy down the hall, trying not to gape at the wide, brightly lit rooms. Fuck, but frat houses were fancy, apparently. He’d been imagining kind of a controlled squalor, like Ian's side of the dorm room, but this was nice, and spacious. It made his and Ian’s dorm room look like a shoebox with bad carpeting.

The party was indeed in back, the music deafening, some kind of rap that made Mickey feel old and crotchety just listening to it. A keg was in the corner beside a guy Mickey assumed was also a brother pumping out beer. It seemed to still be early, only a couple dozen people in the room. 

“Mickey!”

Mickey turned at the sound of Ian’s voice, trying not to perk up too much in excitement. Ian was waving expansively as he pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, loping over, nearly stumbling over his big feet in his haste. Mickey felt his irritation at being at this dumb fucking frat party momentarily dissipate. 

“You made it!” Ian said when he reached him, pulling him into a clumsy side-hug. His movements were a little sloppy, a half-full cup of beer sloshing in his free hand. He smiled down at Mickey like he’d been given a wonderful surprise.

For a second, Mickey forgot where they were. He wasn’t usually big on PDA but suddenly he wanted nothing more than to kiss Ian hard on his smiling lips.

Then he blinked, and looked around. They were surrounding by frat brothers. There were pastel polo shirts as far as the eye could see. It was a sea of snapbacks. 

He doubted there would be any gay kissing tonight, not unless it was of the drunken homoerotic variety.

“Yep, I decided to swing by,” Mickey said blandly.

“That’s awesome, bro!” Ian said happily, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

Mickey huffed, but it was hard to maintain any ire. “Well, where else would I find a bunch of white people dancing to gangster rap?”

Ian bumped him with his shoulder. “Look at you, Mr. Social Justice.” His eyes went wide, distracted. “Oh man, you need a beer! Let me get you a beer. Here, take my beer.”

He shoved his beer into Mickey’s hand and took off toward the keg before Mickey could stop him. Mickey watched, bemused, shifting his backpack on his shoulders. 

He took a sip of the beer and grimaced. Room temperature Natty Light. “Merciless god,” he muttered, and took another sip. 

Someone stepped up behind Mickey and said, “Beer not up to your standards?” 

Mickey turned his head and sighed. It was Lip, Ian’s brother. They didn’t necessarily look alike but Mickey recognized him. He’d been by the dorms a few times the semester before, dragging Ian off to pledge events or rushing or whatever the fuck they were called.

“It’s free, so it’s fine,” Mickey said on a shrug. He saw Ian coming back with a full cup in his hand, and noticed the exact moment he spotted Lip standing near Mickey. Ian practically drooped like a flower, but picked up his pace to rejoin them.

Before Lip could reply, Ian was beside Ian again. “Hey, Lip,” he said, somewhat uneasily. He swapped the new beer with the old one in Mickey’s hand. “Here, Mick.” 

Lip watched the exchanged, then nodded at Mickey with his chin. “Is this that nerd you been living with at the dorms?” Lip asked Ian, smiling sharply, in a _we're all just joking and having a good time tone, lighten up!_  tone of voice.

Ian frowned, glancing at Mickey. Mickey crossed his arms, feeling his eyes narrow at Lip. Fucking college asshole would need to get up pretty early in the morning to cow Mickey with some light heckling, that was for damn sure.

“Yeah,” Ian said. “This is Mickey.” He bit his lip, then shrugged. “My roommate.”

Mickey tried not to visibly deflate. He didn’t know what he’d expected Ian to say. _Hey Lip, here’s my roommate who I started fucking over Christmas break, he’s majoring in Literature!_ Being labeled as nothing more than a nerdy roommate still felt like a demotion, though, and he glanced away.

“Yeah, I heard you brought the roommate home with you for Christmas,” Lip said. His tone was deceptively casual. Even out of the corner of his eyes, Mickey saw Ian tense.

“Mickey gave me a ride back home,” Ian supplied. “Fiona let him stay over break.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Lip said again. He was watching Ian carefully now, obviously letting him dangle, seeing what he would do.

“Mickey’s from our neighborhood, did you know that?” Ian said weakly. “He went to our high school.”

“I know,” Lip said. He didn’t spare Mickey a glance. “We had a few AP classes together.” 

Mickey remembered Lip alright, the irritating know-it-all tone of his voice. He was a little surprised he remembered Mickey, since he’d spent most of his time sitting quietly in the back, keeping to himself in the shockwaves after his dad kicked him out. 

“Oh, really?” Ian glanced at Mickey in surprise, smiling curiously. Mickey resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Ian was surprised that not everyone was as much of a space cadet as he was. It was hard not to smile back at him now, or shake his head fondly at the confidential grin on Ian’s face.

“Sure, I remember a lot of things about Mickey,” Lip drawled, drawing Ian’s attention back. “Rumors around the neighborhood, that kind of thing.”

Mickey really did roll his eyes now. He didn’t have time for this weird, manipulative dance Lip seemed to think he was executing so masterfully, especially when it was making Ian so visibly nervous.

“Rumors that I fuck guys, you mean?” Mickey raised his eyebrows high. “Because I do. That rumor’s true, if that’s the one you’re talking about.”

Ian twitched in surprise, and Mickey could see a few of the brothers nearby freeze in conversation, tilting their heads to eavesdrop. Mickey ignored them. The fuck did he care what some frat idiots thought of him.

Well. He looked sideways at Ian, at the way his shoulders were hunching defensively. Maybe he cared about what one frat idiot thought, at least.

“Well, keep your hands to yourself tonight,” Lip said lightly, gesturing to the party around them. “This isn’t a bath house.”

“ _Lip_ ,” Ian bit out, sounding shocked. Mickey felt his face screw up, fighting the hysterical urge to laugh, because _jesus_. _This_ guy. This fucking guy.

“I’ll bear that in mind, chief,” Mickey said dismissively. He threw his beer back and looked longingly at the keg, wondering if he’d be allowed to get two stupid red solo cups and double fist this goddamn shit show of a party.

“So, you picked what sister you’re taking to the formal?” Lip asked Ian. Mickey was barely listening, trying to map out how best to cut to the front of the line at the keg, but he paused to glance at Lip in confusion. Mickey thought he’d met all of Ian’s sisters back in Chicago. He was reminded of making cookies with Debbie in the Gallagher kitchen, arguing hotly over the relative merits of chocolate versus raisins as cookie flavoring. He liked the hell out of Debbie.

Ian still seemed on edge from Lip's earlier bullying, stepping forward so Mickey was standing at his back, like he was trying to shield him. It as dumb, but Mickey could appreciate the gesture. 

Lip didn't seem to notice. “But you already bought your tickets, and you still haven’t picked what sister you want to go with for Saturday. Christina said she’d be down, and Kaylynn’s always had a thing for you.” 

Did Ian have a sister named Kaylynn? Mickey didn’t remember him mentioning her.

“I don’t think I’m going, and I wouldn’t be taking a Pi Phi anyway,” Ian said stiffly. He turned to Mickey, eyeing his empty cup. “Hey man, you want some more?”

“But you have to go,” Lip protested. “It’s our turn to host.” 

“What’s a Pi Phi?” Mickey asked, although he thought he could probably figure it out. It sounded like Lip wanted Ian to take some chick to some frat thing. 

Ian looked weirdly pained. “Is there some kind of middle school dance you guys are organizing?” Mickey asked him.

“It’s a Valentine's Day formal,” Lip said snidely without looking at Mickey. “And all single brothers need to take a sister from Pi Beta Phi. Ian’s single. He needs to pick a girl to bring.”

“But I don’t want to go with a Pi Phi,” Ian said, shifting from foot to foot.

“You’re single though, aren’t you?” Lip asked with deceptive calm.

There was a second, a _split_ _second_ in time, when Mickey thought Ian might contradict him. But then just shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess,” Ian agreed, a little sullenly.

And the thing was, Mickey knew him and Ian weren’t exchanging class rings.

More than that, he knew that a few furtive blow jobs behind closed doors did not an out gay man make. Ian was a closet case. A hand job in a gas station along the highway didn’t mean Mickey and Ian were together.

If Mickey had let himself believe that spending a full two weeks with Ian’s family, watching movies and sleeping in Ian's childhood bed together at night and going sledding with Debbie and Carl while Fiona held Liam and laughed from the side of the hill, even snuggling obviously with Ian on the cold back porch in a way Ian’s family would have to be fucking stupid to misinterpret—if Mickey let himself think all _that_ meant he was more than Ian’s side piece on the down low, then Mickey was the idiot here. 

“I need another beer,” he blurted. 

“Then go get a beer, man, we’re having a conversation,” Lip said irritably, but Ian was focused on Mickey. 

“Come on, let’s get you another,” Ian said softly, and herded Mickey away from his brother, leaving Lip rolling his eyes in their wake. 

They were silent as Ian cut to the front of the line, clapping a hand on the brother manning the keg and filling up both his and Mickey’s cup. He handed Mickey the beer and led them to a corner that was relatively removed from the speakers blasting rap. 

“It’s just some stupid Valentine’s formal,” Ian muttered after a while. “It’s dumb.”

“It’s cool,” Mickey said. 

“Yeah?” Ian smiled, daring to reach over and tug at the straps of Mickey’s backpack.

“Totally,” Mickey said, and took a deep gulp of his beer.

 

***

 

But it wasn’t cool, not totally, not at all, Mickey came to realize later, in the dorm after the party, when they were making out lazily in Mickey's bed, fully clothed, Ian still with his stupid hat on, the bill poking Mickey in the face intermittently.

Or at least, Ian was trying to make out with Mickey, and Mickey kept getting distracted.

The fourth time Mickey sighed into Ian's mouth, Ian pulled away and looked down at him with a small smile. “What, dude?”

“Hm?” Mickey hummed, trying to catch Ian’s mouth with his own again. They were both moderately buzzed from the party, too sleepy to jerk each other off immediately but too enamored to fall immediately to sleep.

Except Mickey couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid party, about Ian's annoying brother, even about how all of Ian’s frat brothers he'd met that night had been perfectly friendly to Mickey in the way you’d be friendly to the friend of a friend. A perfectly platonic friend.

“You’re all,” Ian said, framing the side of Mickey’s face with his hand, “ _thinky_.”

“Thinky?” Mickey repeated, eyebrow raised.

“Yup.” Ian leaned down and kissed his nose, which always made Mickey scowl, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re getting that look you got when you were all worried about passing your Advanced Composition seminar last semester.” 

“It was Modern Composition,” Mickey mumbled. 

“Whatever, the composition class, you used to mumble to yourself about it in your sleep.” 

And Mickey had to glance away so he wouldn’t blush directly _at_ Ian, at the knowledge that even then, when Ian apparently didn’t even know Mickey’s fucking major in the fall, he’d still taken note of when Mickey was stressed out.

It made it easier for Mickey to look at him, and finally ask, “Are you just going to go to that dance thing with some sorority chick then?” 

Ian reared back fully, sitting up so he was straddling Mickey and gazing down at him in confusion.

“No, I don't think so."

Mickey propped himself up on his elbows. “Were you even going to tell me about it?”

Ian cocked his head, studying Mickey curiously. “Why, do you want to go to the Valentine’s Day thing with me?” he asked, looking honestly perplexed. 

Mickey couldn’t blame him, he didn’t know why he was making such a big deal about this either, it wasn't like he wanted to go as Ian's _date_ or something lame like that, and _yet_. “No, I don’t want to go to your fucking Heteronormative Privilege Night thing with you, thank you very much. _Christ_.” 

Ian sputtered, laughing as he shook his head and looking totally confused. "Heteronormative-what night? Come on, what’s going on with you?” Ian ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “Was it all the shit Lip said? I’m sorry about him.”

“I don’t give a shit about your brother,” Mickey snapped. Because he didn’t. Fuck Ian’s asshole brother, the fuck did that guy know about _anything_.

“He’s been pissed at me since he got back from skiing with his girlfriend,” Ian pressed on anyway. “I know him and Fiona have been talking, and he’s mad at me for taking you home—”

“Ian, why the hell does it matter what Lip thinks?” Mickey shook his head, shifting out from under Ian so they could face one another more easily. “You said he knows you’re gay. Your whole family seemed like they knew, so why does it matter now?”

“You don’t understand,” Ian said, shaking his head. He moved to get up from the bed.

“You’re goddamn right I don’t understand,” Mickey said, grabbing his wrist to keep him close. He made a face. “Try explaining it. People say I’m pretty smart. I might get it, if you talk slowly.”

Ian shook his head ruefully. “He’s just—Lip’s my best friend. He’s always looked out for me.”

“Forcing you to hide who you are isn’t looking out for you,” Mickey said, as gently as he could, which was to say, not very.

“I know that,” Ian said sharply, his head snapping up. “I never said he was perfect. It’s just—it’s more complicated than telling him to go fuck himself.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry you have to kind of be in the middle of it, right now. I know it’s annoying.”

“It’s not annoying, I just think it’s fucked up you let your brother tell you what to do,” Mickey said hotly.

“I’m not letting him tell me what to do,” Ian protested. “And I’m not letting _you_ tell me what to do, either.”

The next thing Mickey knew, they were both standing, facing off. Ian tugged nervously on his hat and Mickey had to clench his fists to resist smacking the stupid thing off his head.

“I’m just saying, don’t beg me to come with to your fucking frat parties if you’re going to keep on pretending I _don’t_ suck your dick every night,” Mickey spat out. “It’s fucked up, and I’m not here for it.” 

“Well, excuse me if I want to keep things private,” Ian retorted. He crossed his arms over his chest, which pissed Mickey off a little, because he wanted to cross his arms too and now he couldn’t without looking like a tool, so he stuffed them in the pocket of his jeans.

Mickey snorted derisively. “Yeah, private, dirty little secret, whatever you want to call it.”

Ian’s entire face seemed to light up, his cheeks going red-hot. “If I don’t want to fucking wave around a goddamn rainbow flag at my frat house, that’s my business, not yours.” 

Unable to stand still, Mickey stalked closer. He shoved Ian’s chest. “Oh yeah, tough guy? You the master of your own destiny, all that shit?”

Ian glared down at him haughtily. He grabbed Mickey’s wrists, holding them immobile. “Yeah, I am,” he yelled, strangled.

They stood glaring at each other, both breathing heavily. The moment was heavy, too heavy to sustain itself, and then Ian was shoving Mickey down onto the bed, Mickey already yanking his shirt over his head, Ian struggling with his pants. Mickey reached up and pulled Ian's hat off, throwing it across the room with relish. 

Their mouths crashed together, teeth banging, Mickey's glasses getting shoved halfway up his forehead, until Mickey tilted his head enough to get the right angle, and then he was eating at Ian’s mouth, thrusting his tongue in and out in a rhythm that made his cock go hard in one swift, hurting surge. 

Ian moaned, wrapping his arms and legs around Mickey, rolling them until he was pinned to the wall and Mickey was pressing against his thigh, riding in rigid, focused movements until he felt on the edge of coming, so fast it took his breath away.

“Clothes, Mick,” Ian gasped out, pressing his open mouth to the base of Mickey’s throat. “Take off your pants, please.”

Mickey leaned back to yank his pants down, kicking when they caught on his ankles. He only took the time to pull his boxers down under his ass and then he was all over Ian again, running his hands over Ian’s body almost angrily, kissing him sharply, biting his bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. 

Throwing his weight forward, Ian rolled them until he was on top, pinning Mickey’s shoulders down with his knees so he could get rid of the rest of his own clothes, leaving him naked on top of Mickey. 

But when Mickey tried to pull him down for another furious kiss, Ian dodged and redirected the desperation, the energy, moaning as he held Mickey's head still and just _devoured_ his mouth, making Mickey whimper and flush in embarrassment at the sound simultaneously. 

With a wild throw of his arm, Ian grabbed for the lube in Mickey’s side table. Mickey barely noticed, too busy kissing him, drinking him in, never wanting him to _stop_ , so when Ian lubed up his hand and wrapped it around Mickey’s cock, Mickey gasped and pulled back in total shock. He looked down, mesmerized by the sight of Ian’s big hand stripping his cock, and Ian’s cock bouncing beside it, ruddy and blood red and Mickey just wanted to get his _mouth_ around it, _jesus_. 

He must’ve said that out loud, because Ian laughed breathlessly, wrapping their cocks together in a two-handed grip. “You like that, Mick?” He licked Mickey’s ear, pulling the lobe into his teeth, and Mickey moaned, unable to snap back a reply. Ian jerked them off together, moving his hip with the tempo of his hands. “Because I like it. I used to think about this all time last semester, watching you study across the room, wonder what you would look like coming underneath me.” 

“Creep,” Mickey mumbled, head tossing from side to side on the pillow. 

Ian laughed again, this time burying his face in Mickey’s neck. He bit hard, almost enough to hurt, and Mickey jerked, his balls drawing up tight as Ian kept jerking him alongside his own cock, hard, fast, steady, until Mickey gasped, loud, his glasses fogging up.

“Come for me,” Ian muttered by his ear. He was losing his rhythm with his hand, his hips thrusting jerkily into Mickey’s, letting Mickey arch into the pressure. “I want to see you come.” 

And that was it, that was all Mickey had left, because he twisted and yelped, spilling all over his belly and Ian’s hand, blearily watching through his clouded glasses as Ian surged forward a few more times and then froze, keening high, and came over Mickey as well.

They both collapsed onto the bed in a heap, panting and sweating all over each other. 

When he could catch his breath, Mickey reached over the side of the bed for his T-shirt. He wiped his stomach down and handed it silently to Ian, who cleaned up without saying a word. Mickey felt noodly and empty-headed, but also strangely empty. He wanted to bask in the post-coming haze, but he couldn't help replaying Ian's earlier words, and he just felt tired. 

He rolled onto his side, his back to Ian. After a second, Ian followed, wrapping his arms around Mickey like he usually did, ever since they'd started sleeping in the same bed more often than not this semester, holding him fast and secure in his arms like they hadn’t just had their first real fight.

For a hot second, Mickey contemplated shaking off Ian’s hold and slipping into Ian’s empty bed across the dorm. Like he could sense the direction of Mickey's thoughts, Ian’s arms tightened slightly, holding him fast to the bed. Mickey settled. He liked sleeping with Ian. No fucking reason to punish himself just because Ian was being a fucking dickhead.

It took Mickey a while to fall asleep, even once Ian’s breath at the back of his neck turned slow and heavy.

He eventually drifted off, feeling uneasy, fitful dreams filling his head the whole night through.

 

***

 

The next morning, Mickey unwound himself as carefully as he could from Ian’s octopus grip and slipped out of the dorm without waking him. He was tired and cranky as he stopped for coffee, angry at the very concept of fraternities and closeted boys with pretty smiles and stupid Thursday parties that kept you up all night drinking and fighting and fucking with your roommate when you should be _sleeping_.

Fueled by indignant stubbornness, he sailed through his reading test, patently refusing to let his fight with Ian distract him from school.

Still, as he walked out of the lecture hall that afternoon, he found himself shying away from the direction of the dorms. He didn’t let himself wonder if he was purposefully avoiding seeing Ian. He just headed downtown, toward his brother’s apartment. He remembered Joey saying he was off work for the day. Something about mandated janitorial union days off, Mickey couldn't remember, but the upshot was he had a sanctuary to head to that was guaranteed to be Ian-free.

When Joey answered the door, he gave Mickey a surprised look. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Mickey shrugged, the movement somewhat muted under the heavy weight of his backpack. “Can I come in or what, man?” 

Joey waved a hand to his side and Mickey walked past him, dropping his backpack in Joey’s tiny kitchen and sprawling on the couch. The ISU game was on, an empty takeout box beside the armchair. 

Behind him, Joey stepped into the room and settled into the chair, watching Mickey for a moment before turning his attention to the game. 

They watched in silence for a while. Mickey tried to focus on the game, but he kept thinking about Ian, about his burgeoning suspicion that the spur of the moment decision to drive Ian over break in the first place had been a serious mistake.

During the third quarter, Mickey couldn’t contain his restlessness. 

“I started hooking up with my roommate,” he said out of nowhere.

He was surprised at himself. Joey wasn’t weird about Mickey liking guys, but they definitely didn’t talk about it. They hadn't even talked about girls, back when Mickey still pretended to be straight. 

Mostly they stuck to basketball, or football, or really all sports. Sometimes beer.  A lot of times they sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. 

It was kind of nice, actually. Joey was way calmer than anyone else in his family. Maybe he got it from their mom, Mickey wasn’t sure. It definitely wasn’t from Terry. 

Joey’s eyebrows went up minimally. “Really?” he asked in mild surprise without turning his head. “I thought you hated that guy. He’s the frat guy, right?” 

“Yeah, Ian,” Mickey confirmed, feeling sheepish. He forgot how much he’d complained to Joey about Ian first semester. But, Ian had been annoying, then. He was still annoying now, but it was easier to overlook now that they were fucking around. On the down low, apparently, Mickey couldn’t help but note sourly.

Joey nodded thoughtfully. “So he ended up being gay, like you thought?”

Mickey vaguely remembered getting drunk one night in the fall and mentioning offhand to Joey that Ian was gayer than a three-dollar bill, a stupid saying their dad used to spit out sometimes. They’d both giggled at Mickey's Terry impression and then moved on to talking about hockey or something, but Joey had remembered apparently. 

“Yeah, he is,” Mickey said. “Just fucking closeted as all hell.”

“Well, you knew that, right?”

“Yes.” Mickey couldn’t keep the grudging note out of his voice. 

They fell to silence again, Joey getting caught up grumbling about a bad foul call on the game. Mickey felt his phone vibrate and looked down to see a few missed calls from Ian, but didn’t want to bother calling him back. Not yet. 

At commercial, Joey turned to him. "Alright, lay it on me. You got thirty seconds til the game's back on."

Feeling impossibly lame, Mickey haltingly described the frat party the night before, and the stupid Valentine’s Day formal or whatever Ian was definitely going to go to with some sorority girl, because he was still pretending he wasn’t gay.

He finished his whining and sank into the couch. Joey hummed, listening, but didn’t respond for a while once the game resumed.

During another commercial, Mickey sighed. “It just sucks.” He wasn’t even sure exactly what he was complaining about. Being with Ian didn’t suck at all. He really liked being with Ian. It just, all this _other_ shit that was giving Mickey a headache like he used to get before he got glasses.

It was a vague complaint, and he was surprised when Joey tilted his head in contemplation, picking right up where Mickey had left off.

“I mean, this isn’t really my area,” Joey said, eyes still on the TV even though it was just a commercial about toilet paper. “But if you start fucking around with some kid whose whole thing is he doesn’t want anybody to know he’s gay…how can you be surprised when he doesn’t want anybody to know he’s gay?”

Mickey tried not to sputter as he glowered at his brother, who continued staring placidly at the TV. “Well, fuck, it’s not that simple, I mean he didn’t even ask me—”

“You seriously sitting over there bitching because your little frat boy roommate didn’t ask you to prom?”

“It’s not prom,” Mickey said hotly. “It’s a formal, they have them quarterly.” Then he ground his teeth so he wouldn’t say any more pedantic nonsense about Ian’s stupid frat that he didn’t even fucking _care about_ , jesus.

Joey shrugged. “Whatever, same difference. If this is a problem, go talk to your boy, man.” He took a long pull from his beer, draining the bottle. The game came back on, and it looked like they were going to tie ending the fourth quarter. “Stop coming over to whine to me about your weird relationship stuff when the game is on. I just want to see ISU go into overtime, is that so wrong?”

“I’m not _whining_ about relationship—”

“Is that so wrong?” Joey repeated firmly, finally tearing his eyes from the screen to give Mickey an exasperated look.

Mickey felt all the fight drain out of him. He looked at Joey, who had never once criticized Mickey for coming out to their dad when Mickey was sixteen. Who had already moved out of the Milkovich house by then, but had made a point to come visit Mickey at their uncle’s house every weekend, and brought by Mandy and the rest of their brothers whenever everyone was free. Who took a job down at ISU when Mickey announced he’d gotten in, stubbornly insisting that it was the best position he could find, that it had nothing to do with keeping Mickey company when he moved out of the city for the first time in his entire life. 

Who only saw the same cocky smartass of a younger brother even after he found out Mickey was gay.

And then Mickey thought of _Ian’s_ stupid older brother, who was so fucking delusional he refused to recognize the same basic truth about Ian. Even though it had been clear to Mickey since Mickey was nothing but an invisible nobody watching Ian walk through the halls of their high school.

“No, man,” Mickey said on a long exhale. “Watch the game.”

But Joey didn’t return to the game immediately. He studied Mickey’s face while Mickey rubbed restlessly at the back of his neck, uncomfortable. 

“You’re too uptight,” Joey pronounced finally. “You always have been.” 

“Your face is too uptight,” Mickey muttered, reminding himself of Ian.

“Be quiet and watch the game.” Joey turned up the volume. Serious Talk over, apparently.

Mickey obediently kept his mouth shut until UConn edge out ISU in double overtime.

 

***

 

Another con about banging your roommate, Mickey supposed as he walked into the dorm that night, determined to just grab a book and head to the library, was when you fought about stupid shit, you didn’t have any room to avoid each other. Instead you still had to see them, and deal with them, and try to remember why you were mad at them in the first place even though they looked really cute sitting all forlornly on their tiny dorm bed in their baggy stupid basketball shorts.

“Hey,” Mickey said from his spot in the doorway, dropping his bag on the floor.

Ian started, glancing up at Mickey in surprise. He jumped to his feet, then rubbed his hand over his head, dislodging his hat. “Hey,” he mumbled. “I, uh. I wasn’t sure if you were coming back tonight.” 

Mickey rolled his eyes, shouldering part Ian to look through the books on his shelf. “Yeah, well. I still live here, last time I checked.”

Ian nodded stiffly. Even with his back turned, Mickey could feel him watching intently as Mickey perused his contemporary literature shelf, growing steadily more irritated the longer he couldn’t locate Never Let Me Go and get the hell back to the library. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. Why didn’t he just sit down and organize his fucking books? This was insanity, contemporary and modern titles all mixed up, and all the stupid required reading for Classics was strewn about the shelf where he’d tossed them in disgust in November. He couldn’t find a damn thing. 

He sat back on his heels on his bed, scowling. Ian touched his shoulder and he whipped around. “What do you want?”

Ian stepped back, eyes wide. “I just—I wanted to apologize. That stupid frat party with Lip, I should’ve…I don’t know, just stood up to him, I guess. I left you hanging. I’m really sorry, Mickey.” Ian stared at him soulfully, wringing his hands together. 

Mickey sighed. He wasn’t made of stone. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. He sat on his bed and patted the side for Ian to join him. Ian threw himself down, letting his hand settle onto Mickey’s thigh. 

Mickey leaned into Ian’s body, drinking in the warmth of being hip to hip. He had the vague idea that it might be nice to nap. As he went to close his eyes though, Ian interrupted, like he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“This is all kind of new to me, man.” Ian was watching his feet bob over the end of the bed. “Being…being gay, like, dating someone. On purpose. Not just fooling around with some older dudes every once in a while—”

Mickey sat up slightly, alert. “What older guys—”

Ian bopped him on the knee with his hand. “No older guys. Don’t worry about it, that’s not important.” He took a breath. “It’s just, dealing with Lip, figuring out how to talk to the guys at the frat about it.” He laid his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey put his nose to his hair, inhaling the smell of shampoo and anxiety. “I don’t know, I just feel like I should, like, go to a meeting, or something.” 

Mickey snorted, still mostly focused on Ian’s head on his shoulder. “You’re such a joiner.” 

“Would you want to go with me?” Ian asked.

Mickey felt his eyebrows arch high over the frame of his glasses. “You mean, like one of those LGBT club meetings?”

Ian nodded hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t really know what all the letters stand for, I don’t think. But yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.” 

Mickey threw his head back against the wall, laughing. Ian frowned, waiting for him to get a hold of himself. Finally, Mickey quieted and craned his neck to look down at him. “That’s gonna be a hard pass, for me.”

Ian shook his head, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, you’re the only gay guy I know on campus.”

With a grudging sigh, and the knowledge that not only was he the only gay guy Ian knew, but he was also a gay guy Ian was sleeping with, Mickey let his head fall back. “I will go to one single meeting with you, and that’s it,” he said.

With a triumphant laugh, Ian leaned into Mickey. “Well, fine. How about one gay club meeting, and you can be my big gay date to the Valentine’s Day thing at the frat?”

That made Mickey sit up, jostling Ian’s head on his shoulder. “What? You fucking serious?”

He watched Ian’s shoulders hunch uncomfortably. “I know it’s stupid, and you think frat stuff is dumb, but I thought it might be a good way for me to just.” He spread both hands out wide, giving them a jazzy shake. “Come out. Once and for all.” His gaze glanced off Mickey’s and down to the bed again. “I mean. Only if you want to.”

“Ian,” Mickey said quietly. He felt inescapably guilty, somehow, no better than Lip, forcing Ian into doing something just to please him. He reached out and took one of Ian’s hands, cradling it in both of his. He looked at how the freckles were paler on the top of Ian’s hand but still there, still visible. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal about that. I don’t want you—you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to do. It’s none of my business if you come out to your brother or whatever.” 

“It kind of is, though,” Ian said thoughtfully. “If you’re going to be my boyfriend and everything.” He looked at Mickey from under his lashes. 

Against his will, Mickey felt himself blushing. “What?”

“I can write you a note.” Ian used the hand not being held by both of Mickey’s to write an invisible letter in the air. “‘Do you want to go steady with me, mark yes or no.’” 

Mickey sat still, at a loss for words. Coming out to his dad in a blaze of defiant glory had mostly meant rebelliously hooking up with stray gays in Boystown after Mickey moved in with his uncle. He’d never really had a boyfriend before. He’d never really thought he wanted one.

Looking at Ian and his sweet, nervous face as he waited for an answer to his invisible letter, Mickey felt a truly embarrassing flutter in his chest. 

“Yes,” he said, trying to ignore the way his voice shook slightly. He reached out and drew an invisible Y in the air with his finger.

Ian tackled him sideways onto the bed, and they didn’t talk much for a while after that.

 

***

 

The next day, Mickey walked with Ian past other couples (and that's what they were, Mickey marveled, they were one of the sea of _couples_ marching along the street on Valentine's Day, holy _shit_ , how had _this_ happened), he realized he'd never been to a formal before, fraternity, Valentine’s Day-themed, or otherwise. So he wasn’t really sure what to expect as he and Ian climbed the steps to the events hall Sigma Chi had apparently rented for the occasion.

From the sound of it, it involved a lot of smooth R&B hits.

“They hired the fucking bar mitzvah DJ,” Ian groaned under his breath, and Mickey would’ve asked more about that if he couldn’t sense how tense Ian was beside him. He seemed distracted. Mickey decided to ask him about the bar mitzvah DJ later. 

Inside, they shed their coats. Mickey tugged at the dress shirt he’d borrowed from Joey. It was too big in the shoulders, but it was nicer than anything Mickey had in his closet. 

By contrast, Ian looked effortlessly handsome in his hand-me-down blazer, even paired with his snapback on his head, the asshole. Even the gaudy gold buttons on the wrist looked somehow purposefully vintage on Ian’s lanky frame. Mickey kind of wanted to roll his eyes, and kind of wanted to take him back to the dorm and fuck him some more.

He settled for putting his hand on Ian’s shoulder, making him pause before entering the special occasion room. Some of Ian’s frat brothers walked by with their dates, patting Ian on the shoulder or interrupting for a fist bump. Mickey ignored them. “You sure about this, man?”

Ian seemed to pause and consider. He took a breath. “Yeah.” He looked at Mickey and stood up straight. “Yes. I’m sure.” He smiled all of sudden, teeth gleaming white, and ushered Mickey into the formal. 

There were a lot of red and pink hearts everywhere, streamers hanging down like tongues over the door. Mickey hated everything immediately, but he didn’t spare the decorations more than a passing thought, following Ian as he made a beeline for the bar.

Before they could reach it, Ian was stopped by a three bros standing in a semi-circle.

One of them clapped Ian on the back. “Hey, man! We weren’t sure if we were going to see you. Lip said you weren’t coming.”

A second bro smiled wide. “Glad you came.”

“That’s what she said,” the third bro said, and all three bros snickered.

Mickey bit his lip to keep from snickering with them. He knew this was Serious Business, but he was a sucker for a that’s-what-she-said joke. Always.

“So where’s your date?” the first bro asked once they'd quieted down, looking around like he expected some mystery girl to pop out of the hot pink centerpieces at the tables around the dance floor.

Ian looked at Mickey:  _last chance to back out._  Mickey shrugged:  _your call man_.

Ian took a deep breath. He took Mickey's hand, and Mickey let him, a little surprised at the gesture. “This is my boyfriend, Mickey,” he said, his voice shaking just a tiny bit. Mickey doubted the bros before them even noticed it, but he did.

“Your boyfriend?” One of the guy’s, this one wearing a snazzy suit and a neon visor, seemed surprised but not disgusted. He looked at Mickey. “Oh yeah, man. I recognize you from the mixer. How’s it going?” He held his hand out, and Mickey shook it warily, getting a distinct I-look-forward-to-your-vote-in-November vibe from it all.

Conversation drifted to the DJ (there was general assent between frat bros that Dan Dan The Party Man was the wrong choice for the formal, and Mickey nodded like he knew what the hell they were talking about), and Ian let Mickey lean gently into his shoulder, Mickey doing his best to support his weight.

After the initial trio of bros moved on, Ian was stopped by a few more groups, and they repeated the “This is my boyfriend, Mickey” song and dance for a new audience each time. Ian’s voice stopped shaking, but his hand was getting sweatier and sweatier, and Mickey could tell he was quietly freaking out.

But aside from a few curious looks, nobody seemed to be too horrified in Ian’s coming out. It probably helped that a lot of people were drunk already. Mickey envied them. He was getting so much contact anxiety off of Ian he was sweating a little too.

“Dude, get me a drink, for the love of god,” he muttered to Ian, and Ian nodded like Mickey had given him a sacred task, towing him along to the other end of the room. 

Mickey couldn’t help but notice the gossip about Ian spreading gently between groups like a visible wave, people whispering and nodding in Mickey and Ian’s direction. It didn’t seem too hostile, at least not yet. It definitely seemed to be spreading, though, and by the end of the night, Mickey had a feeling Ian The Gay Frat Brother would be old news.

Judging by the handful of interested eyes following Ian as he led Mickey to the bar, Mickey also had a feeling Ian was making some fantasies come true.

As Ian handed him a beer, he said as much, and Ian gave him a bewildered look.

“What?” He scanned the room, still looking profoundly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Just saying,” Mickey said, keeping his voice teasing. “Glad I got there first, because some of these frat bros are definitely giving you the thirsty eye.” 

Ian shook his head firmly. He stood close to Mickey still, their knees brushing, like he didn’t want to drift too far apart.

“None of the brothers have a crush on me, what are you talking about?” Ian said. He sounded scandalized at the very idea. 

Mickey jerked his chin pointedly at one dude in particular, who was huddled in the corner and kept shooting the two of them furtive looks. Or at least, shooting Ian furtive looks. He seemed more annoyed by Mickey’s presence than anything. 

“You’re trying to say Tommy is…what, into me?” 

In the corner, Frat Boy Tommy twisted the snapback on his head nervously, pulling the bill back and forth around his head. Mickey resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because did every single one of these douchebags have the same hat? Was it standard issue for a frat? 

Not that he didn’t like it on Ian, though. He glanced slyly at Ian, at the flat-billed hat sitting low back on the crown of his head. It looked okay on Ian. The rest of these assholes, not so much.

Mickey raised both his eyebrows meaningfully as Ian followed his gaze to Tommy's hungry gaze. “I mean.”

Before Ian could respond, Lip arrived, somewhat dramatically, the frat bros closest to the door sending up a holler. Clearly the asshole was popular. Mickey could see him in the doorway with his girlfriend, some well-put together Asian girl. Mickey downed the rest of his beer and reached for another as Lip narrowed his eyes at them, leaving his girlfriend by the door and coming at Ian like a heat-seeking missile. 

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight,” Lip said hotly as soon as he was within speaking distance. He glared at Mickey and put a hand on Ian’s elbow, presumably trying to pull him somewhere more private to lecture him.

But Ian wouldn’t be budged. “Yeah, I changed my mind.” He took a breath, and reached over to grab a hold of Mickey’s hand again.

Lip looked down at Ian holding Mickey’s hand, but seemed to decide to manfully ignore it. “Why didn’t you bring one of the Pi Phi girls, then?” he demanded doggedly.

Ian looked at Mickey, and like a magic trick, Mickey saw the tension start to bleed from Ian’s shoulders. “Because I’m not single,” Ian said, eyes still on Mickey. Mickey tried to smile back, but he felt too tense on Ian’s behalf to do anything but watch, wide-eyed, and Ian straightened his shoulders and faced his brother. His face became carefully, almost stoically determined. 

“Fucking hell, Ian,” Lip said, glancing around the rest of the formal anxiously. “Now’s not the time to make a scene, man. We talked about this.”

“Yeah, but I think it’s time we talked about it again.” Ian was smiling helplessly, humorlessly, without artifice. “I can’t keep waiting. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Ian, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Lip said urgently. He kept his voice low, much lower than Ian seemed to be trying to keep his. “This could screw up your entire future.”

“Do you hear yourself, man?” Ian asked. He shook his head wonderingly. “I know you’re worried about me, but come on. I can't do this anymore." 

“I just,” Lip said gruffly. Then he seemed to forget what he was going to say. He looked at Ian, at the way Ian was staring at him pleadingly, and then at Mickey, who was watching the exchange carefully.

Lip sighed. He looked stubbornly off to his side, knuckling his eyes with one hand, “I just want to look out for you, Ian," he said to the floor.

“I know,” Ian said. He put his hand on Lip’s shoulder, keeping Mickey’s hand tight in with the other.

Before things could descend any further into schmaltz, Lip’s girlfriend joined them, taking in the scene watchfully. “Hey, Ian,” she said. “Who’s your date?”

Lip looked at her in betrayal. “Amanda,” he said harshly, giving her a significant look that she ignored.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Lip, come _on_ ,” she said, and turned to Mickey. “I’m Lip’s girlfriend. Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. Mickey didn’t think he’d shaken hands so many times since his high school graduation. Nevertheless he took it, shaking it. She had a perfectly firm grip.

“I’m Mickey,” he said. “Ian’s. Well. We’re roommates.” He glanced at Ian uncertainly. He’d wanted this, the chance to be open about who he was to Ian, but now, in the moment, the pressure felt immensely high. It was almost harder watching Ian come out than it had been doing it himself. He didn’t know how Ian looked so calm.

Ian held up their joined hands. Mickey started, so distracted he'd forgotten they were even touching. “We’re together,” Ian said firmly. “Excuse us, we're going to grab our seats now.” He nodded at Amanda, who smiled graciously, and turned to leave, tugging Mickey behind him.

Lip was watching them with a look that said this was far from over. Mickey was reminded of the outraged expression on his own dad’s face all those years ago, like Terry couldn’t believe that Mickey might possibly choose to define himself on his own terms, without his dad’s permission.

He doubted Lip would try to beat the shit of Ian for this, but he looked similarly frustrated, the expression giving Mickey weird déjà vu for a minute there. And Lip looked sad, almost, like he was losing something. Mickey watched him for another fleeting moment and then let Ian tug him completely away, winding through the fraternity crowd as they looked for their table.

Ian found his name at Table Seven (“Ian Gallagher + Date”) and threw himself down in a chair, finally releasing Mickey's hand. He smiled wearily up at Mickey. 

“Shit,” he said. “My knees are shaking.”

Mickey sat down beside him, smirking. He leaned into him, hand on Ian’s thigh, gripping firmly like he was trying to keep Ian tied to earth. “So would you say,” he said slowly, “that I made your knees weak?” 

“You’re the worst,” Ian said on a groan, but he laughed anyway, head falling on to Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey scanned the room, feeling protective and watchful of Ian's sudden ease, but nobody really gave them too much of a second glance. Lip was seated across the room now and looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, but his girlfriend seemed to be lecturing him sternly about something. Offhand, Mickey thought he’d probably get along with her. She seemed like a ballbuster.

A groovy, melodic slow jam came on over the speakers, something with R. Kelly maybe, Mickey wasn’t sure. A collective whoop went up from the crowd, and a few of the frat brothers dragged girlfriends onto the floor in front of the ring of dinner tables. 

“Are we going to have to dance?” Mickey asked, a little nervously. He was not a dancer. It felt like now might be a good chance to bring that up with Ian. “Is that a thing couples do?” 

“No, we’re going to quietly drink until my hands aren't trembling anymore, and then I’m going to take you into the bathroom and blow you.”

Mickey grinned. "Sounds like a plan." And then, feeling especially daring, he darted forward to kiss Ian on the forehead.

 

*** 

 

Later that night, flushed from drinking and talking to a million frat dudes and sorority girls whose names he'd never remember, eating some weird chicken dish shaped into a heart, and coming (twice in the bathroom at the formal, once in bed together after they stumbled home at three in the morning), Mickey turned on his side, Ian's face inches away.

“Happy Heteronormative Privilege Night, Mickey,” Ian whispered. 

Eyes drooping, Mickey snorted and snuggled closer. “You too, asshole.”

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> [TUMBLAAAAAA](http://ohjafeeljadefinitelyfeel.tumblr.com/)


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